Sounds Like Examine
by bodiechan
Summary: Crowley has been spending a lot of time with Famine lately, and Aziraphale is desperately jealous. But what's the reason behind this sudden change in allegiance? Aziraphale is worried that it may be him.


"I just think it's _rude_, that's all," Aziraphale argued huffily, crossing his arms and sinking deeper into the passenger seat of the Bentley. "You can't take someone out to lunch and then just leave in the middle."

Crowley turned the wheel, emotionless behind his dark shades but a hint of exasperation leaving his mouth in a tiny sigh. "Angel, I told you, this meeting was planned _months_ ago. I can't get out of it any more than you can stand up Heaven."

"I know, but… really, my dear. You'd think you could find _some_ way around it." The angel's face took on the pouty look of a small child. "I know you're a demon, but you usually have _some_ manners."

"Angel, we'd been there for an hour. It's not rude to leave once lunch is _over_." Crowley's tone was exasperatedly dismissive. He'd been hearing the same thing from Aziraphale for what felt like longer than their lunch itself.

"It was _not_ over," came the curt reply. "You interrupted a truly fascinating conversation to practically shove me from the restaurant."

Crowley groaned softly and turned the Bentley into a side street without putting his blinkers on. "You had enough food, angel."

Aziraphale flushed, his voice tight and defensive. "It's not about the _food_. I was enjoying our conversation."

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and pulled the car up in front of the bookshop, parking slightly on the curb on purpose. "Right. Because that's what you always pay attention to when we go out to eat."

Aziraphale glared at him heatedly as he fumbled with the car door. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Crowley wordlessly slammed the driver's door behind him.

The sad thing was, Aziraphale thought as he exited with a slam of his own that was much more sad than forceful, it really _had_ been about the conversation, at least this time. Well, not so much any specific _topic_ of conversation as the fact that he'd been having it with Crowley. Was that a sin? He enjoyed the demon's company immensely, and here Crowley went around cutting their time together short like the angel meant nothing more to him than an obligation.

"I also don't see why he has to come _here_," Aziraphale continued grumpily, walking up beside Crowley with his arms crossed in a pretentious manner. "Why can't you meet him at your _own_ flat? I'm sure he'd find it more to his tastes than mine."

Crowley's snakelike eyes didn't move from the road to acknowledge him. The demon's words were impatient and sharp. "I agree. The bookshop's just more convenient. Be thankful I drove you home."

"Yes, well, thank you for that, anyway," Aziraphale had to consent politely, before pressing on, "But really, my dear. I just can't help but feeling jilted. I mean, I can't imagine _Famine's_ company is better than mine."

A flicker of discomfort danced in Crowley at the mention of the name, but it was gone within the moment. "I've told you, angel. It's _business_. We're both residents of Hell. It's not like we're _friends_."

"Yes, but Armageddon's _over_. It didn't happen, I mean. The fact that one of the Horsepersons is still alive and here, well, it still makes me uncomfortable," Aziraphale babbled unhappily, eyes turning to the road along with Crowley's. From the west, a low rumble could be heard, a rumble that grew louder until it became too big for sound itself and came whizzing down the road in the form of a black motorcycle with a sleek black-clad rider.

Aziraphale tutted disdainfully. Crowley ignored him and stepped forward.

The rider pulled off his helmet and to reveal a painfully thin face with a beard sharp enough to cut through hearts. He smiled. "Anthony Crowley, I presume?"

"Famine," Crowley replied with neither enthusiasm nor contempt. "I can tell because I just ate and now I'm mysteriously hungry."

The man in black chuckled softly to himself. "I do seem to have that effect on people, don't I?" He flashed Crowley a dangerous grin. "Well, I'd prefer if our meeting didn't involve any food, if that's all right. Have to keep up appearances, don't we, as a representative of Hell? It's hard to conduct the proper fear for a man who can't even command his own weight. Obviously you've got that under control now, but it's never too late to start slacking, is it?"

Crowley didn't respond, but Aziraphale let out a very undignified little squeak somewhere between a snort and a scoff. Famine swiveled his dark eyes to the angel for the first time, a quiet amusement dancing behind them like a lion locking eyes on prey he knows he can kill, and quickly.

His tone was poison sweet. "And who is this?"

Aziraphale flushed a dark red and turned pointedly away, digging his crossed arms into his chest. "Aziraphale," he mumbled darkly. "'M an angel."

Famine watched him with an expression that could almost be mistaken for pity. "I see."

"Don't mind him." Crowley waved a hand in Aziraphale's direction, as if the entire angel could be waved away when he became inconsequential. "He's just cross because we had to leave the Ritz before dessert."

Aziraphale twirled around to retort furiously, but something in Famine's smile stopped him cold. "I see," Famine repeated, and a shiver went down the angel's spine. "I see. Well. You don't know I don't approve of dessert in general, but in this particular case…" Aziraphale could _feel_ the Horseperson's eyes rest pointedly around his midriff. "…I feel it's probably even less necessary than usual."

Aziraphale had no words. He tried very hard to shrink into the ground.

Famine's smile gleamed as he stepped forward and placed a slender hand on the soft swell of Aziraphale's pudgy stomach. The angel stared downwards, ashamed completely. Famine backed away and took Crowley with him without having to say another word. But Aziraphale's heart was hammering. He knew what had been said without being spoken. He knew what he looked like. He knew what happened to those who ate too much.

His moping was interrupted by a wistful sigh.

Aziraphale turned slowly to find a boy dressed completely in white lounging lightly on the stairs leading up to his bookshop, as if a wind could blow him away. Amongst his long, unkempt blonde strands of hair rested a black paper crown.

"He's lovely, isn't he," Pollution breathed out as a sigh.

Aziraphale blinked, then looked back at the two men in black climbing into the Bentley. He knew exactly which his eyes were drawn to. "Crowley?"

"No, no." Pollution breathed in deeply. Suddenly the air all around Aziraphale seemed fetid and rank. "The other one. Sable. _Famine_. Isn't he _dashing_?"

Aziraphale blinked twice and swiveled back to the car, giving it a scrupulous look as if he could still see its passengers. As soon as the front doors closed, the Bentley put on a burst of speed and flew down the road. Black. Streamlined. State-of-the-art.

Thin.

Aziraphale shook his head and resumed his conversation. "No. No, I don't think so. To be honest I'm not all that fond of the man."

"Really? Well, pity. He's a beautiful thing." Pollution exhaled with a dreamy smile. "Though I suppose an angel wouldn't be compelled to like something that came from Hell."

Aziraphale didn't quite know how to answer that. He still felt like Pollution was talking about Crowley. Everything he'd said so far seemed to fit Crowley to a tee… they were alike, he realized with a jolt. Crowley and Famine. Both handsome, in a demonic sort of way, through Crowley was far better looking, and… both of young and glamorous corporations. Both no-nonsense. Both thin. "I don't know. I guess I'm just not very fond of him."

Pollution gave a little shrug. "To each his own. I just think it's too bad someone else got him first."

Aziraphale's head jerked up faster than the Bentley. He breathed only when he remembered that Pollution was talking about Famine. "Oh? I wasn't aware he was seeing someone," he stated politely, trying and failing to steady his jagged breaths. "And who would that be?"

Pollution offered another shrug, this one moody. "Exactly who you'd expect him to love. Someone just as sleek and sexy as he is. Someone he spends a lot of time with. Someone badass. With a cool ride. He's probably even thinking about them now."

And who did that description fit?

A sudden heaviness clenched itself around Aziraphale's heart, and his mouth went desperately dry. He pushed his way past Pollution with no more than a mumbled "Excuse me" by way of goodbye and slid inside the bookshop doors with the air someone who has just ceased to matter.

He just wondered why he'd never seen it before.

—

Aziraphale picked at his sushi, mushing it forcefully into the little chunk of wasabi on the side of his plate. Crowley sipped at a glass of sake.

"He's really a very nice man… thing… once you begin to talk to him," the demon mused, holding his glass lazily between the tips of two fingers. "Sure, some of his ideas about the world are pretty twisted, but so are everyone's, when you really get down to it. I'd forgotten what it's like to have a good talk with someone from Hell. Makes you feel like they understand where you're coming from, you know how it is."

Aziraphale stabbed the roll with his chopsticks straight through the salmon in the center. "I suppose I do," he mumbled gruffly in response, not looking up.

Crowley shrugged. "You should spend more time with your own kind. People from Heaven. You might enjoy it."

"Sure," Aziraphale shot back grumpily. "I suppose I'll just call up God for a jolly good talk whenever I start feeling lonely, will I?"

Crowley took a slow sip, expression wary and a bit concerned as he surveyed his friend. "Angel, are you all right? You seem… testier than usual. You've stopped being disgustingly polite."

The angel shrugged sullenly. "I just don't like all the time you've been spending with that… _creature_ is all. At first you said it was purely business."

"It is business," Crowley replied, surprised by the force and sharpness of Aziraphale's words. "Of course it's business. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy his company."

"He's a monster," Aziraphale muttered, leaning on the edge of his hand as he pushed his chopsticks pointlessly around his plate. "He kills humans for a living."

"No, not kills," Crowley corrected helpfully. "That's Death you're thinking of. Famine just makes people starve in lots of places. It's not all that different from what demons do, really. He's just… specialized. But he also does a great deal for keeping obesity rates down, if you're looking for something _good_."

Aziraphale glowered at the table.

"I just feel like you can't rule someone out just because they're a Horseperson of the Apocalypse is all," Crowley went on, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "Since Armageddon's over, they're off-duty for the most part. When they're not doing their jobs, I'm sure they're all quite interesting chaps. I know Famine is. I feel like the two of us, oh, I don't know, _understand_ each other. He gets me in a way no one else does, you know? I feel comfortable around him. I like him."

Aziraphale swallowed. _Too bad someone got to him first._

Didn't Crowley like _him_?

Of course not. He was an angel. Too good. Too frumpy.

Not thin enough.

He stabbed some more at where he thought his sushi ought to be only to realize disappointedly that his plate was empty. Absent-mindedly, the angel's chopsticks wandered onto Crowley's plate and found a piece of his.

Aziraphale stealing Crowley's food was a commonplace occurrence between them. Crowley had actually gotten into the habit of ordering more than he intended to eat because he knew in advance that the angel would be eating half of it. But this time something changed, something static in the air, when Aziraphale touched his chopsticks to Crowley's plate. The demon's eyes shot to the piece of sushi, as did Aziraphale's.

The angel dropped the food as if it had burned him and looked pointedly away, face crimson. He returned the chopsticks to the side of his plate and laced his pudgy fingers together to give them something else to do.

Crowley raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Aziraphale wouldn't order dessert, either.

—

"Hey! _Angel!_ Is that you? I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Aziraphale dropped the last few crumbs of bread into the pond for the ducks and gazed into it sulkily, stubbornly resisting the pressing urge to steal some of the food for himself. He pulled his tartan scarf tighter around his neck and ignored the shouting voice he'd recognize anywhere in the world.

Crowley found him anyway. He stood beside him in front of the pond, like they'd done so many times before. But now was the first time they'd been here that they didn't feel together. They were standing physically close, but they were unconnected.

"Dammit, angel," Crowley mumbled irritably. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in weeks."

Aziraphale offered only a noncommittal shrug, not even turning his head from the pond.

"Seriously," Crowley pressed on, breezing past his silence, "whenever I try to see you you're always _busy_, and when we do see each other you barely say two words. I _know_ your social schedule's not full to bursting. You sit at home and read every day. What the he… what is going on?"

Aziraphale merely shrugged again, eyes glazed over like the surface of the pond. "It shouldn't matter, should it?" came his crisp reply. "You've got your Famine to keep you company, now."

Crowley craned his head to try to catch a better look of the angel's face, his expression growing somewhat concerned. "Hey." He rummaged in his black jacket pocket for a moment before producing a thick chocolate-chip disk wrapped in clear plastic. Aziraphale couldn't help but look up pathetically. Crowley held it out. "Do you want a biscuit? I stole it from some little girl, but I don't want the thing. Too sweet for me."

Aziraphale forced himself to pointedly turn away. "No thank you," he primly replied, delicately crossing his arms. "I won't be consuming any stolen goods. I have much more dignity than that."

Crowley looked at the biscuit and up at his friend, expression growing even more troubled at this. "It's never bothered you before."

Aziraphale stuffily didn't reply.

Crowley used this silence to examine him, taking in the features of his turned-away face. The demon's eyes strayed downwards, too. When he spoke his voice took on an almost motherly tone. "You haven't been eating much lately, angel. Have you lost weight?"

Aziraphale offered the demon a look darker than Crowley's place of employment. "No." His voice dripped with derision, hiding behind which was a huge, whimpering disappointment.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Are you _trying_ to lose weight?"

Aziraphale raised his crossed arms slightly, expression grumpy to an extreme. "Maybe."

The demon wrinkled his nose. "And may I ask _why_? I honestly think you look fine the way you—"

He broke off as Aziraphale threw up his hands furiously, desperately. "I'm _fat_, Crowley, for Heaven's sake!" he wailed shrilly, then seemed to realize as an afterthought that he probably shouldn't be using the word in vain and offered a brief apologetic look at the sky.

Crowley wasn't buying it. "No, not really, no." He put his hands on his hips and looked at Aziraphale square on. "I mean, sure, you're not the skinniest thing in the world, but you're certainly not _fat_." At the angel's disdainful snort, Crowley pressed on firmly, "I'll give you slightly chubby at most. And you wouldn't look good skinny, anyway. The weight sort of suits you. Makes you comfier-looking, you know?"

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes darkly. "I thought you liked your men quite thin," he hissed, voice sharp as Famine's beard.

Crowley looked suddenly taken aback. "What are you talking about? When have I ever expressed a preference in the size of men to you?"

Aziraphale shoved an accusing finger in the surprised demon's face. "Well, _isn't that what your boyfriend's very existence is all about_?"

In the silence, if Newt had been there, you could have heard him fumble with and drop his pin.

"My boyfriend?" Crowley repeated softly. When he received no response, his voice became much more urgent. "Aziraphale, do you think I'm dating _Famine_?"

"You spend so much time with him," Aziraphale whined.

Crowley groaned. "Angel, I _like_ hanging out with him, sure, but that doesn't mean—"

Aziraphale interrupted, unconvinced. "You talk about him like he's your favorite thing in the—"

"Because he's my _friend_—"

"Pollution said he was dating—"

"Famine is dating _War_!"

Aziraphale froze. Both of them were breathing heavily now. "What?" he whispered, eyes enormous.

"War," Crowley repeated, his eyes steady behind his shades. "He's dating War. And from what he tells me, it doesn't seem like she's that into him, either. But he's head-over-heels for her."

Aziraphale stared. "But—but he can't—Pollution said—"

"He likes the fact that wars displace a lot of people," Crowley went on matter-of-factly. "Leaves them hungry, you see. But if you had to ask me I'd say War's probably more interested in Pollution. Oil causes more wars than hunger does, nowadays."

Aziraphale quietly watched him speak. "Pollution is in love with Famine, though," he brought up simply.

Crowley nodded. "I'm not surprised. Leave it to the three of them to get themselves caught in something like this. That's the downside to being a Horseperson, you know? You make things suck, so your own life must suck, too."

They were quiet after that. Aziraphale took to watching the fish under the pond's surface. Crowley noticed the ducks.

"Do you want the biscuit yet?" Crowley asked, holding it out again impatiently.

Aziraphale nodded and gratefully accepted it, hungrily tearing open the plastic wrapping.

"And I think we're long overdue for a dinner," Crowley went on, as if continuing a conversation that had begun long ago. "So sushi, tonight at seven? You in? I already made reservations."

Aziraphale looked up guiltily with a mouth full of crumbs, only half really paying attention. "Crowley, this biscuit wasn't really—"

Crowley sighed in exasperation. "No, I didn't steal it," he admitted testily, with the air of one confessing to an embarrassing crime. "I bought it from the bakery down the way. Because I thought you would like it."

Aziraphale smiled. "There we go. Somehow I thought that would be the case." Crowley turned away, face reddening. The angel's tone was gentle. "Seven sounds lovely."

The demon nodded curtly. "Good. I was getting desperate. Without you around, who else is going to eat all of my food?" Aziraphale actually laughed at that. Crowley cracked a smile.

"Then seven it is." Aziraphale ripped off a piece of biscuit and nibbled on it absently. "It's a date."

Crowley looked up at him sharply then, expression suddenly very odd. "What did you just say, angel?"

"Hm?" Aziraphale looked at him, chewing innocently. "I said it's a date, I don't know what—"

Crowley's mouth slowly spread into a serpentine grin. "You've never called it a date before."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest but couldn't seem to find the flustered words. "I—no, I—that's what people say when they make plans, I—I didn't mean a date like—"

Crowley slowly cupped the blushing angel's chin in his hands, and Aziraphale's frantic murmuring trailed off as he gazed into Crowley's eyes. "Shut up, angel," Crowley mumbled, and kissed him.

He tasted even better than the biscuit.


End file.
